


let go, let go, let go of everything

by ShatterinSeconds



Series: in the eye of a hurricane (there is quiet) [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, One Night Stand, as close as you can get to smut without it actually being smut, basically it’s pg-13 level of stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “If I wanted to murder you, I would have brought you to a poorly lit alley already,” he replies with a blank face though his eyes glimmer.Leaning closer, Lance rests his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow placed on the bar top. His fingers drum against his cheek. “You have a dark sense of humor, don’t you?”“Will you be able to handle it?” Keith asks casually with a raised eyebrow.(or, more simply, a Victorian au)





	let go, let go, let go of everything

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore all historical inaccuracies; I love writing historical aus but I hate researching lol. 
> 
> This has been a wip for like two months now and I'm glad I can finally post it.

****There’s something about a thunderstorm that captures Keith’s complete attention.

He stands under a doorway, watching people scurry across the street, avoiding puddles and carriages that may splash mud onto their pristine clothes. Streams of raindrops splash down from the roof, a clogged gutter the source of the problem. Tucked under Keith’s arm resides a package, and though he loves the rain, at this moment, he wishes he had an umbrella.

With one last look out at the street, the beige wrappings crinkling as he hugs the package tighter against his body, Keith steps out onto the sidewalk and immediately slams into the ground, pain flaring in his shin and ankle. Rain pours down around him, drenching his entire body, his long hair plastered to his face. He brushes a lock or two out of his eyes to find that the extra weight on top of him is a man.

Startled gazes locking, they both attempt to speak at the same time.

A deep rumbling from the sky above interrupts their meeting for a second, stealing their words away. The man on top regains composure first, scrambling off of Keith with an apologetic smile. He holds out a hand which Keith immediately accepts as he grasps those long, nimble fingers. Undeniably, this stranger is handsome with a nose that hooks slightly at the end, dashing blue eyes, cropped curly hair, and brown skin splattered with freckles as if a painter had flicked his paintbrush in the man’s direction.

Handsome is one way to describe this man, but Keith believes ‘beautiful’ may be a more accurate description.

Water, dripping from his long bangs, obscures Keith’s vision as he blinks to clear his eyes.

“I am so sorry, sir. Entirely my fault,” the stranger finally speaks, sweeping his uneven bangs off his forehead, combing them out of his face. The man has somewhat of an American accent combined with something else. His darker skin leads Keith to believe he may have originally hailed from the Caribbean.

Shaking his head, Keith replies, “No, it’s my fault; I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

The man’s bike, which had been what plowed into Keith originally, plinks as rainwater hits its metal frame. The basket on the handlebars is dentened now, but as the man bends down to pick the bike up off the ground, a foot testing a pedal, nothing else seems to be amiss. Still, Keith grimaces with guilt. He begins to pad his pockets for a coin or two to give the man until he realizes that he should be holding something in his hands.

There’s a brief second of confusion before a package is gently held out in front of him. “I think this belongs to you,” says the stranger, gingerly gripping the soaked paper. As Keith takes the item, he can’t help but scowl at the ripped part of the wrappings where he can see the crisp pages of the book already curling as they soak up the rain.

“Here, please take this,” the stranger speaks again, shoving a few pounds into Keith’s hands, “I hope your book isn’t too ruined, but just in case you have to buy a new copy.”

He stares owlishly at the crumpled bills, already stained from the drizzle. “I can’t--I--” Keith stops when he sees the man’s unrelenting stare. “Thank you.”

“Um, sorry for running into you; hope you have a great rest of your day.” The man dips his head, already brushing by Keith without another word.

Keith watches him until he hops back on his bike, quickly disappearing around the next street corner. His handsome features are forever burned into Keith’s brain.

* * *

 

He needs something--some _one_ \--to distract him.

The underground bar is full tonight; thick rings of smoke from cigars circle Keith’s head as he claims his usual spot at the end of the counter. The stool always squeaks when he moves but it allows him the perfect vantage point to see all comings and goings.

A new face in the somewhat thinning crowd surprises Keith as he watches the man walk down the stairs. Keith’s eyes lock onto those familiar blue ones. Muscles tightening, he watches the stranger stroll closer to him. Hair rises on the back of Keith’s neck, not knowing what this man will say--if he even knows what type of place he is currently in. Strangely enough, he seems comfortable in his surroundings, gliding passed the other male bodies with ease before coming to rest on an empty stool right next to Keith. The man taps the counter in a quick beat, signaling for a drink.

“What are you doing here?” Keith inquires cautiously, eyeing the stranger with interest. His overcoat had been taken at the door, revealing strong arms as his dress shirt is rolled to his elbows.

The man smirks once Keith addresses him, cocking his head in amusement. “How naive of you to think my interests only lie with women. I know how to enjoy a pretty face when I see one.” With a quick mussing, his hair falls from its gelled state, curling softly on his forehead, adding to his endearing features. “I never gave you my name, did I? And I don’t know yours,” the man comments.

“We usually don’t give out names, for protection,” Keith quickly explains, a finger tracing the rim of his glass, before adding, “If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find out at the end of the night.” The man nods in understanding, the light in his eyes never vanishing. Keith smiles at this, lending the stranger a few more inches. “Tell me about yourself instead.”

When the man’s drink finally arrives, he allows it to rest for a moment, the chipped ice clinking as it melts. “Well I trust you,” he proclaims with a brilliant smile, “My name’s Lance and I’m a hunter; some call me the best marksman around.”

“Who’s ‘some’?” Keith asks coyly, mentally repeating ‘Lance’ in his head until the name becomes a part of his being.

“Oh myself… and possibly a few others,” he mutters, knowing he’d been caught, though Keith fully believes that this man is a perfect shot. He has the steady hands and keen eyes to prove it. “What are _your_ hobbies?”

“I collect knives,” Keith deadpans.

A deep laugh spills from Lance’s lips much to Keith’s surprise. “If you turn out to be a murder, that will be very unfortunate for me.” There’s a brief pause before his blue eyes finally meet Keith’s head on and asks, “You know how to use them?”

“Of course.”

The grin on Lance’s face only widens as he shakes his head. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“If I wanted to murder you, I would have brought you to a poorly lit alley already,” he replies with a blank face though his eyes glimmer.

Leaning closer, Lance rests his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow placed on the bartop. His fingers drum against his cheek. “You have a dark sense of humor, don’t you?”

“Will you be able to handle it?” Keith asks casually with a raised eyebrow. The drink sloshes in his glass as he takes a sip.

“Of course,” Lance replies, parroting Keith’s earlier phrase in the same pitch and tone.

There’s a slight quirk to Keith’s lips as he finds himself giving into his desires, having learned enough. “We might want to get out of here then.”

Lance blinks, genuine with his confusion when he inquires, “Oh, why’s that?”

“Huh, maybe I misread this conversation,” Keith says, eyeing Lance carefully as he studies the man’s expression as the implications finally dawn on him. A sinister grin winds its way across his dark skin, showcasing his white teeth.

“No, no, I get it now.” Lance eagerly places his half empty drink on the counter, his full attention directed toward Keith. “So are there rooms in here or--”  

“You interested in visiting my flat? I have no neighbors right now.” An older woman, who used to send over biscuits whenever she saw Keith, had passed away a few months ago, with no one filling her vacancy. Someone will move in soon enough, but to take the chance of actually spending a night with his chosen lover in his own bed twists his insides in unexpected joy. For once, he’ll feel free.

Like a gentleman, Lance holds out his arm for Keith to take. “That sounds… _intriguing_.”

His devilish smile is already enough to send Keith crashing into the deep end.

 

It’s half past one, the Thames flowing beside them as they make their way back to Keith’s flat. There’s a thin layer of smog in the air, coating Keith’s lungs in a substance he’s used to. His fingers trail on the stone railing of Blackfriars Bridge, appreciating the few stars that shine through the thick clouds. A full moon hangs in the night sky, and Lance’s brown hair and blue eyes are illuminated in a silvery light. This man has an ethereal quality about him that Keith feels himself gravitating towards. A rope is tied around his waist and Lance holds the other end.

Since they are alone, Lance’s fingers lazily brush across Keith’s knuckles, a subtle touch that does everything. “A moonlight walk,” he says, “You know how to treat a person.”

Watching the water, Keith answers, a bit shyly though he hopes that doesn’t come across in his tone. “Hm, I guess; I don’t have much practice. But it’s too beautiful of a night to spend in a carriage anyways.”

“It sure is,” Lance replies, angling his head, and when Keith turns, he finds Lance staring directly at him, red hues coloring his cheeks. “Will you grace me with your name now?”

“Keith,” he replies without a moment’s hesitance.

“A perfect name for a prince.”

Scoffing with a slight hint of a laugh, Keith finds himself shaking his head, amusement tingling at his lips. “I’m no prince.”

“No, too rough around the edges. You have money though; it’s easily seen in your clothes--” Lance lifts a hand, brushing it across Keith’s cheek “--in your soft skin.”  

The contact tingles.

“I worked for my money; I’m not some rich bastard who just inherits it,” Keith grits, eyes sharp and piercing.

Lance hastily eases the situation, “I did not mean to offend.”

“I don’t have as much as you’re assuming either,” Keith continues though it’s quite unnecessary. They walk across the cobblestones, turning down a side street where suddenly it’s obvious to see the imperfections of the city around them. Street lamps dwindle and the stars and moon help provide that needed light. Their feet clap on the uneven stone until the ground becomes matted dirt.

In the quiet air, Lance finds the honest words he had been searching for. “It’s refreshing how you speak your mind.”

“Is it?” Keith hums, only slightly caught off guard. His eyes cut away to grab a side view of Lance, and when he searches those features, he discovers the truthfulness within Lance’s ocean-like gaze. “Most usually scurry home by now. Too scared to be with a brash foreigner.”

“I can not be scared away so easily. I’m no field mouse.”

Keith grins, a dazzling display in the soft darkness. “That I do not doubt.”

 

His flat is no bigger than a single room, complete with a wash basin, a small area with a table and chair below a window, and in the back corner lies his bed. A bit of the wallpaper curls at the corner from the summer humidity and the year round dampness. It’s Keith’s home though, and Lance gently lays his overcoat on the back of the chair as if he owns the place.

Keith smirks. “Alright, do y--” Lance kisses him, hands cupping his face before his fingers slide into Keith’s long hair. His lips are warm, and teeth lightly graze his lower lip, eliciting a moan that rumbles in the back of Keith’s throat. Lance’s mouth twitches into the semblance of a smirk as Keith’s hands begin to roam his back, dipping lower to pull the hem of Lance’s shirt out his waistband.

“You’re eager,” Lance mumbles with a laugh as they begin to walk backwards, stumbling over the uneven floorboards until Keith lands on the mattress with a slight bounce. Beginning to kiss down the side of Keith’s neck, Lance’s soft breath tickles his skin as he begins to nip the area of Keith’s collarbone and other places that can be covered by clothes in the morning.

“You’re not like most men.” _Not so easily terrified at the thought of being caught; there’s no timidness within you,_ Keith thinks as Lance easily draws a moan from his lips, _No, you are definitely no field mouse… you’re a_ lion _._

“Oh? Is it too early to say I’ll be the best lover you’ll ever have?” Lance asks this as he methodically unbuttons Keith’s shirt, stripping it off his shoulders. Keith fumbles with Lance’s cravat first, laughing slightly as he undos the knot, but finally Lance’s shirt joins Keith’s on the floor.

“I’ll inflate your ego if I say yes.”

Smiling, Lance hums, “That’s the only answer I need.” Content with himself, his fingers trace over Keith’s chest, outlining the muscles of his stomach and the V that disappears into his trousers. Those fingers cause fire to erupt across his skin.

And Keith melts.

Lance has a batch of freckles on his shoulders, and a dopey smile captures Keith’s expression as his hands glide up Lance’s back, blunt nails dragging across his brown skin. A thin scar or two slices through Lance’s biceps, and a thick, jagged one runs down his left side under his ribs. Keith doesn’t miss how Lance watches him closely, his breath hitching as Keith’s fingers graze the old wound.

“I was stabbed once,” Lance explains with a breathy chuckle, “Probably deserved it too.”

“How’d you survive?” Keith has to ask in awe, hands gripping onto Lance tightly as if he would turn to dust any minute.

“My abuelita knew the right herbs to ward off an infection.” Lance lazily smiles at the memory, lost to the past.

Keith takes the opportunity this distraction provides, catching Lance off guard as he flips their positions. Lance lays under him, an eyebrow piqued with interest. “Let me take care of you,” Keith gently says, caressing Lance’s cheek, thumb brushing just under his long lashes.

“Usually I’d object,” Lance says lightly, making no effort to move though Keith lossens his hold, “But only for you. To have your handsome body worshiping mine, I can’t imagine anything more perfect.”

Lance’s touches become bold; fingers dance near the strings of Keith’s breeches, adding intervals of pressure that send sparks of lust through Keith’s bloodstream. At this, Keith arches over him, his long hair dusting across Lance’s face as he leans in closer, eyes gleaming like an alley cat’s. “Speak up if you don’t like something.”  

“I like everything about you, darling.”

The moon illuminates their bodies in an otherworldly glow.

 

The afterglow has yet to fade from Keith’s mind as he curls his arms around Lance’s bare chest, nose finding a perfect crook in Lance’s neck to breathe in his scent. Beads of sweat pepper both of their bodies, and locks of Keith’s hair are damp from the exertion they had put themselves through. It’s in this quiet moment, with the candle beside them flickering in a soft orange glow, the white wax lethargically dripping down the side, that some inquiries that have remain unspoken finally present themselves.

“You’re not originally from here,” Lance comments, his tone lazy as the blue of his eyes reflects the flame of the dying candle. The window is to his back and his skin becomes streaked with silver.

Keith angles his head on the pillow to gain a better view of Lance. His throat feels tight as he speaks, a past that has long been buried finally being shared. “I was born in Korea, and some... _traveler_ thought it would be a... a brilliant idea to bring me back to England.”

“W-was it by choice?” Lance asks softly, eyes widening.

His lips turn downward in displeasure at the memory. “I was seven and living on the streets with no parents and no money. I didn’t have a choice but I would have died if I was never brought here.”

“Do you remember anything... anything about your home?”

“ _Ye_ ,” Keith nods, Korean flowing easily off his tongue, “I still remember most of the language, the sights, the sounds. But my parents’ faces are a blur and will be forever.”

Sometimes there will be flashes of sights--a brief glance of dark hair and dark eyes and a warm smile but he can never tell who it belongs to. Sometimes there will be this vaguely familiar scent at the local market that will conjure a feeling deep inside him, something familia. These snapshots of visions always end up with his eyes snapping open as he is snatched from a dream that he can never return to. As if sensing phantom pain wrapping tight around Keith’s muscles, Lance shifts his body, a hand lifting to comb back his wild hair. Fingers scraping against his scalp manage to ease Keith back into the present. Lance’s eyes crinkle with concern but he doesn’t say anything.  

His actions are enough.

Keith finds himself cautiously stepping into a new topic, lidded eyes staring at Lance through the curtain his bangs provide. “I’m not the only one far away from home though.”

A brief sigh leaves Lance’s lips as he flops flat on his back, hands folded on his chest and eyes staring at the cracked plaster above him. Then his story begins. “My mamá told me not to go, but I wanted an adventure. So I learned enough English to get by and stowed away on the first transport out of Cuba. That was six years ago. I was in America first, then moved here.”

“Did you find the adventure you were looking for?” Keith has to ask, a light smile tipping his lips upwards as he stares at the naked man beside him.

“Not yet…” Lance admits, “though tonight has been quite a rush.”

“So you’re saying I’m the best lover you’ve had?” Keith repeats Lance’s earlier words.

Deep laughter rumbles throughout the small space, drowned in passion and hysteria as Lance’s whole body trembles next to him. Keith glimmers at the sight, his thumb reaching up to wipe away a single loose tear that had started to fall. A hint of a chuckle remains in his tone as Lance finally replies. “Without a doubt.” Then, as if telling a secret that can not leave this flat, he softly whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

Those blue eyes bore into Keith’s very soul, and he finds himself saying, “Not like you.”

Lance’s answer is a simple shake of his head, as if he won’t accept anything less than his own truth, and he begins to move.

“What’re you doing?” Keith eyes him carefully as Lance pads across the mattress and over Keith’s legs with fierce determination, rummaging through the draw of the nightstand. His eyes illuminate in triumph when he pulls out a wrinkled handkerchief--the purity of the white cloth a defining element on the dark wood--and a travel sewing kit that has never been used.

When Lance turns back to Keith, a small, metallic item gleams in his hand, and Keith’s expression morths with curiosity. “I want something to remember you by,” Lance provides as an explanation.

His fingers run through Keith’s inky hair until they catch onto a shorter piece. Bringing up the miniature pair of sewing scissors, Lance snips off a curling lock, and he delicately presses it to his lips with a genuine smile before laying it in the hankerchief for safe keeping.

“Hm, what a romantic,” Keith muses.

Lance leans down to place one final kiss on Keith’s lips--something that’s equally sweet and chaste yet remains long after Lance departs. “In case I never see you again,” is all he says before they fall into a deep sleep, in which Keith will wake to find Lance long gone.

And no matter how much Keith might crave Lance’s warmth and honeyed words, this is how it has to be.

Until the world changes, this is how it has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed:) 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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